


is this more than you bargained for yet?

by cherryonbottom



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Belly Kink, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain, i mean. that's it pretty much, that and Excessive jerking off, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:25:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryonbottom/pseuds/cherryonbottom
Summary: There’s something different here, though, something about Pete, and Patrick tries to subtly give him a once-over to figure out what it is. It’s his shirt, Patrick finally realizes. Pete’s not usually one to wear loose clothes, but Jesus Christ, the gray material is straining across Pete’s stomach, and -Patrick’s thoughts come to an abrupt halt. He’s seen this shirt on Pete a million times before, and it’s usually loose. It’s old enough that it would’ve already shrunk in the wash if it was going to, which means that Pete’s gotten… bigger.





	is this more than you bargained for yet?

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how i wrote this without spontaneously combusting. enjoy?  
> also - if you like this shit, come check out my (nsfw) tumblr @stuffedwentz!

Patrick has, over the years, gotten pretty good at ignoring Pete Wentz. Pete’s more than kind of an attention whore, which gets really tiring after about two hours of being within three feet of him, so yeah, ignoring him is a skill the entire band has acquired. However, there are, ah,  _ occasions _ where Patrick’s Ignoring Pete skills are…. tested.

Usually it’s just when Pete steps out of the tiny bus shower still dripping wet and Patrick has to hide his boner because they’re  _ friends, _ okay, stuff like that. Today’s different, though, because Patrick’s just reading a review of their latest show when Pete steps into the bus lounge and Patrick suddenly finds himself staring. At a  _ fully-clothed  _ Pete, he might add, which isn’t usually Patrick-stare material. 

There’s something… different here, though, something about Pete, and Patrick tries to subtly give him a once-over to figure out what it is.

It’s his shirt, Patrick finally realizes. Pete’s not usually one to wear loose clothes, but Jesus Christ, the gray material is straining across Pete’s stomach, and - 

Patrick’s thoughts come to an abrupt halt. He’s seen this shirt on Pete a million times before, and it’s usually  _ loose _ . It’s old enough that it would’ve already shrunk in the wash if it was going to, which means that Pete’s gotten… bigger.

“Jesus, Patrick, do I have a stain on my shirt or something? You’ve been staring for like, five minutes, dude.”

Patrick jumps at the sound of Pete’s voice, almost dropping his laptop. “No, uh, is that a new shirt? I was trying to figure out if I’d seen it before.”

Pete’s eyes drop down to his chest, which - Patrick swallows hard - has a barely-there softness that Patrick can’t believe he hasn’t noticed before.  “I’ve had this shirt for years,” Pete says with a snort. “You good there, Stump?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” Patrick says. His mouth is dry. “I’m just gonna go… shower. I’ve been meaning to wash my hair all week.” He gets up as quickly as possible, strategically holding his laptop over his crotch because somewhere in that whole exchange he got  _ hard,  _ what the fuck, and walks as casually as he can back to his bunk.

“Don’t waste all the cold water!” Pete calls after him, laughing.

“That doesn’t even make sense, asshole!” Patrick retorts as he slams the door shut. (Pete was just joking, right? He hadn’t noticed. Hopefully.)

Joking aside, Patrick actually does end up taking a cold shower because he can’t let himself jerk off to whatever the fuck his brain apparently wants him to jerk off to. Which is… what, exactly? Pete’s ratty old shirt? The criticism of their show Patrick was reading?

_ Stop pretending you don’t know what’s going on here,  _ his brain whispers traitorously. And okay, okay, fine. Patrick knows exactly what made him so hard.

His mind (un)helpfully conjures up the image of Pete in that now-tight shirt, the way the material didn’t quite reach all the way over his stomach, the gentle curves just starting to form on his chest.  _ Fuck,  _ Patrick thinks. It’s partly a ‘Fuck, how did I not notice this shit before’ kind of  _ fuck _ , but mostly it’s a ‘Fuck, I almost just jerked off because I saw that my best friend gained weight’ kind of  _ fuck _ .

_ Is that even, like, a thing?  _ Patrick wonders. He has a fairly average knowledge of kinky shit that really only extends to the BDSM club stories Gabe likes to tell, and as he can tell, that only scene only includes whips and gags, not… whatever the fuck this is. 

Besides, this might not even be an actual thing. Patrick used to get boners in math class, for crying out loud. (Granted, those were horny teenager boners but. Still. This doesn’t necessarily mean that he, like, gets off on Pete having gained weight. That would be  _ weird _ and is  _ obviously  _ not what happened. Clearly. He doesn’t know what he was thinking earlier.)

* * *

 

_ Okay, this is obviously not a thing, but I’m just - just checking to see if it is a thing. For other people. Not me,  _ Patrick thinks two hours later as he types “weight gain kink” into an incognito Google tab in the safety of his bunk. He hits enter with no small amount of trepidation.

Because his WiFi sucks, it takes almost a minute for the results to load, and then Patrick’s face to face with 691,000 results telling him that he might this might actually be a thing after all. For other people. 

The first few results are a mixture of Reddit pages and pop culture articles. Patrick clicks on a Reddit link that takes him to a post called _BF has a weight gain kink. Ideas?_

He skims the assorted responses to the question for about .02 seconds before freaking out and back-buttoning as fast as he can. 

_ Okay, well, it’s a thing then.  _ That’s…. Patrick doesn’t know how to feel about it. It isn’t reassuring or anything, because that would mean that he’s happy to know that other people are into this too, and that doesn’t make sense, because he’s not  _ fucking into this!  _

He’s tempted to close the tab, clear his browser history just to be safe, turn off his laptop, go to sleep, and forget this ever happened, but something makes him scroll down and click the next link.

The Wikipedia page is… terrifying. Patrick can tell instantly that anything involving actual obesity is  _ not  _ his thing. Of course, none of this is his thing anyway. Obviously.

He clicks out of that one pretty quickly, and then he skips a few pages of results because he does  _ not  _ want to know what kind of gifs Buzzfeed would put in an article about this shit. On the third page, though, there’s a link that catches his eye. It’s simply titled  _ gains + stuff ;)  _ and it takes Patrick to a simple Tumblr blog with the url plkwg.

_ usa. he/him. slowly gaining. 146 → 233 so far. 5’6”,  _ the description reads. The header is just black, but the profile picture is a badly lit shot of a man with his hand over his rounded stomach. 

Patrick takes a deep breath and scrolls down the blog a little. The most recent post is two photos of a man’s stomach, his hand placed just under his belly button and outlining the curve.  _ just finished a pizza + a half stuffing,  _ the caption reads,  _ hoping to reach 240 by the end of the month.  _

“Fuck,” Patrick whispers under his breath. The numbers in the description finally click, this guy must’ve already put on nearly 90 pounds, and he’s still trying for more. That’s… hot. Not to mention - a pizza and a half. That’s a  _ lot  _ of food, especially for one person, and when he imagines someone just eating all of it… fuck. Patrick might actually be a tiny bit into this. Emphasis on might. 

He looks at the next post. This time, the guy’s wearing a button up shirt that’s clearly too small for him; the buttons look like they’re barely hanging on. Patrick maybe sort of just a little bit reaches down and palms himself through his pajama pants. He can’t help but think about Pete, and how tight his shirt was earlier, and if Pete’s noticed that he’s put on weight at all and -

_ No. You’re not bringing Pete into your weird maybe-kink _ , Patrick tells himself, even though that’s a completely illogical argument because it’s Pete’s fault in the first place that Patrick’s doing this right now.

He manages to put Pete mostly out of his mind as he looks through more of the blog. There’s a decent amount of stuff (pun not intended), and Patrick takes nearly an hour to reach the first post.

_ hey, i’m p, new to gaining + Tumblr. starting weight is 146, no specific goal weight yet. i’ll try to post updates at least once a week. feel free to message - i’d love to make some friends on here. _

Patrick is… stupid, sometimes. He’s stupid and impulsive, and that’s why (after scrolling back up to a  _ really  _ nice shot of the guy’s ass in too-tight pants and fisting his dick until he comes) Patrick finds himself facing the Tumblr sign up page.

He enters an old email he hardly ever uses because he’s screwed if anyone finds this, the password “ihatemyselfrn,” and then he has to choose a username. He thinks for a moment before typing in trickortreat. It’s taken, unsurprisingly, so he changes the i to a 1 and then he’s the not-so-proud owner of a new Tumblr account.

He follows plkwg almost immediately, opens the message feature, and then stops, because he has no idea what he’s thinking of saying.  _ Hi! Just discovered I’m into this shit and jerked off to your blog. How’s your day going? _

Patrick looks up at the ceiling of his bunk and groans. He needs to chill the fuck out and go to sleep. Before he does, however, he gives his blog a pumpkin icon and types out a post about how he’s new to Tumblr and is curious about the kink community and tags it #wg, just to see what happens.

Once it’s published, Patrick shuts his laptop down and rolls over in his bunk, still unable to get the image of Pete in that tight fucking shirt out of his head.

* * *

 

Patrick forgets to check his blog for a couple of days after that. Well, forget is an… interesting word choice. It’s more like he refuses to check his blog for a couple of days because he’s still pretty terrified at the thought of legitimately being into this. Pete’s been wearing mostly jackets all week, so Patrick doesn’t really have to worry about being caught off guard like that again, and overall, things are just chill.

Three nights after he made the blog, though, Patrick’s just checking his email when he sees a message from Tumblr. It tells him that he has two new followers - @hot-sexy-babes-near-u and @ _ plkwg.  _ The second name has Patrick catching his breath as he clicks the link that’ll take him to his blog.

He blocks the first follower, a bot, and then stares in shock as he sees that @plkwg liked his post, followed him, and  _ messaged him.  _

**plkwg:** hey, welcome to the community/tumblr! 

Patrick stares at the message for several minutes.  _ Holy shit,  _ he thinks.  _ Am I getting in too deep here for something I discovered literally three days ago?  _ If there’s one thing that Patrick’s learned from being best friends with Pete Wentz for years, though, it’s that you shouldn’t half-ass anything. So, he messages the guy back.

**tr1ckortreat:** Hi! Thank you :)

Even though it’s been about two days since the first message, a response appears almost instantly.

**plkwg:** i’m p, by the way, and u are?

Patrick freezes. He really hadn’t thought this through at  _ all. _

**tr1ckortreat:** If it’s okay, I’d rather stay completely anonymous right now haha. I’m a bisexual guy, but that’s as much as I feel comfortable sharing right now.

**plkwg:** that’s totally cool dude dw, im bi too lol

**plkwg:** so are u gaining or ?

**tr1ckortreat:** I’m completely new to all of this, actually. I just realized that I was into this stuff not too long ago.

Patrick curses at himself under his breath as soon as he hits send, because fuck, he really just admitted that, didn’t he.  _ Hey, you couldn’t stay in denial forever,  _ he reminds himself, but still. Patrick lowkey wishes he was a normal kinky person that liked being whipped or some shit.

**plkwg:** i’ve been gaining since last year lol, that’s when i finally let myself admit i was into this shit

**plkwg:** shit was that like oversharing im sry 

**tr1ckortreat:** No, you’re all good! I don’t think you really can overshare at this point, you kind of already have a whole blog of nudes.

**plkwg:** u make a good point

Patrick sends a few laughing emojis, figures the conversation is about over - and really, he’s not sure if his brain can handle any more because what the fuck, he just jerked off to this guy’s blog last night and now they’re just having a casual conversation - and is about to log out of Tumblr when he gets another message.

**plkwg:** anyway i got off-topic for a second there but i was gonna say that if u ever have any questions abt any of this stuff (pun not intended) i got u, there’s are a lot of shit that ur prob gonna wanna steer clear from on here and shit like that so if u ever need anyone 

**plkwg:** sry that makes me sound like some sort of expert im not and obviously idk what ur looking for here but the offer stands lmao

**tr1ckortreat:** I’d actually really appreciate that, I’m kinda in way over my head here. I don’t want to make you teach me since I have the whole Internet and whatnot, but would you mind just explaining some of the terminology and stuff? Urban Dictionary hasn’t proved to be that helpful so far.

Patrick sits back in his bunk slightly, looking away from his laptop for a second. He has  _ no  _ idea what he’s doing. 

‘P’ starts sending him a bunch of assorted definitions as Patrick absentmindedly scrolls through his blog again. Patrick’s still pretty weirded out by the fact that this shit gets him hard, but there’s no denying that it  _ does.  _

Patrick’s just scrolling and occasionally looking up at the steadily incoming notifications from P, and he’s back in the middle of some posts dated nearly a year ago when he fucking  _ likes  _ one. He wasn’t trying to, he was just trying to get his stupid trackpad to work because his laptop  _ sucks,  _ and now P’s going to see that Patrick was fucking scrolling all the way back on his fucking blog.

Patrick can barely bring himself to look at the next message he gets, but through some amazing feat of willpower, he re-opens his and P’s conversation.

At first, it’s just a bunch of words and their definitions that Patrick resolves to actually read later, and then there’s the most recent message.

**plkwg:** scrolled back quite a bit there huh ;)

Patrick wants to  _ die. _ He’s been talking to this guy for fifteen minutes tops, and he’s already embarrassed the fuck out of himself.

**tr1ckortreat:** I would try and make some excuse, but yeah, I did. You have a pretty nice blog.

After thirty heart-pounding seconds of deliberation, he sends a winky face back. (It’s fine. It’s fine. This guy doesn’t know who he is and probably never will. It’s fine. He just has to play it cool.)

**plkwg:** good 2 hear ;)

_ Okay, that’s three too many winky faces for one night, _ Patrick decides.

**tr1ckortreat:** Hey, it’s getting pretty late for me, so I think I’m going to log off for the night. It’s been great talking with you, though, and thank you for those definitions!

**plkwg:** good talking 2 u too, i hope we can do this again soon ;)

Another fucking winky face. Patrick wants to scream, this guy is way too hot for this to be happening (even if Patrick has only seen him from the stomach down.)  Before anything else can happen, like Patrick liking another post or something else ridiculous, he logs out of Tumblr and shuts his laptop off. 

Before he goes to sleep, Patrick jerks off, thanks to all of the fucking pictures on P’s blog. When he comes, it’s P flashing across his mind, which is still a little weird, admittedly, but at least it’s not Pete. 

* * *

“Hey, Patrick, are you going to that Laundromat down the street?”

Patrick pauses from where he’s already halfway out of the door. “Yes,” he says suspiciously. 

Pete gives him what he clearly thinks is a winning smile. “Would you mind taking some of my shit? I’m literally on my last clean outfit right now.”

“Fine,” Patrick huffs. He’s made the mistake of letting Pete keep wearing dirty clothes before, and his nose  _ sorely  _ regretted it. “Give me your bag.”

“You’re the best, Trick, seriously,” Pete says. He flashes Patrick another grin before walking back to his bunk, and then Patrick’s not thinking about laundry anymore because he’s getting a perfect view of Pete’s ass and  _ fuck.  _

Patrick’s noticed Pete’s ass before, of course, but he’s never seen it… like this. Pete’s wearing the tightest jeans Patrick’s ever seen him in, and just like his stomach yesterday, there seems to be  _ more  _ there than before. 

The jeans are clinging to the Pete’s ass and thighs, and Patrick is  _ not  _ getting hard looking at the curves he knows haven’t always been there. Pete turns to grab his laundry bag out of his bunk and that only makes things worse, because now Patrick can also see the outline of Pete’s stomach through his shirt. 

_ Fuck _ , he thinks. How has he never noticed this shit before? And why is it  _ so goddamn hot? _

“Here!” Pete says, somehow already standing back in front of Patrick and holding out an overflowing plastic bag. Patrick is  _ not  _ staring at his thighs and the way they look like they’re about to burst through his jeans.

“Uh, thanks. Please,” Patrick says as he takes the bag, then immediately kicks himself mentally.  _ What the fuck are you saying? _

Pete raises an eyebrow. “Is everything okay?”

“Um, yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just - um. Laundry. I’m going to do laundry now. Be back in a few.” Patrick almost runs out of the door and down the street to the Laundromat, leaving Pete standing confused behind him.

He can’t get the image of Pete’s thighs out of his head as he shoves his clothes into the laundry machine. His mind offers up the image of Pete straddling him with those thighs, his belly touching Patrick’s own when he leans down to kiss Patrick, and -

“Fuck  _ off, _ ” Patrick whispers to his subconscious. He’s already half-hard, and he really doesn’t want to risk some fan taking a picture and making the entire Internet think he has a fucking laundry kink. To be fair, he’d rather have the Internet think he has a laundry kink than a weight gain kink, but…  _ still.  _

Patrick’s actually able to focus on laundry a tiny bit for the next few minutes as he forces himself to focus on sorting colors and checking pockets, but then he realizes that he doesn’t recognize the jeans he’s holding.

They’re not his, obviously, but he’s pretty sure Pete doesn’t wear a _ 38  _ in pants, unless - unless he’s needed to size up. And judging by how his fucking thighs looked earlier? He’s almost definitely needed to.

_ That would make sense, actually,  _ Patrick thinks. If Pete’s been slowly sizing his clothes up, that would explain why Patrick didn’t notice the change until Pete ran out of clean clothes and had to wear old, smaller stuff. Patrick’s rather enjoying this nice, calm, logical train of thought until the actual meaning of what he’s piecing together hits him.

Jesus fuck, Pete’s been having to buy bigger clothes. That’s… Patrick runs a thumb over the 38” printed on the tag of the jeans he’s holding and swallows hard. Last he noticed, Pete was closer to the 30-32 side of things. That’s a pretty big change. Fuck.

Patrick throws the jeans into the washing machine with slightly more force than necessary and picks the next item out of the bags at his feet, which just so happens to be a large shirt. It’s clearly Pete’s, because Patrick’s never seen it before in his life, but… Pete’s usually a small. (Or at least, he used to be.) And Patrick’s pretty sure that these shirts don’t just run small.

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath, because apparently now he’s just that guy that gets hard in the middle of a Laundromat.  _ Okay, okay, I need to calm the fuck down,  _ he thinks.  _ Um. Okay. So Pete has obviously… gained some weight, so of course he has bigger clothes. This isn’t a big deal. I’m just going to do the laundry and leave and then never think of this again. _

That seems like a solid, albeit unlikely to be followed, plan to Patrick, so he loads up the rest of the laundry without even looking at it and drops a few quarters into the slot. This is fine. Patrick is fine. He’s still thinking about Pete’s ass looked in those jeans earlier (and how it might look _ not  _ in those jeans), and it’s  _ fine. _

* * *

 

**plkwg:** hey! sorry, i was going 2 message u earlier but i got busy lmao

**tr1ckortreat:** Hi! It’s okay! How are you?

After he’d returned to the bus with the laundry that afternoon, Patrick had decided that his best plan of action would be to just shut himself in his bunk because there’s not a show tonight and Pete’s not even anywhere around to bug him, and his ‘mindlessly reorganize all of my files’ strategy had been working pretty well until P texted him.

**plkwg:** im good, u?

**tr1ckortreat:** I’m good! I finally got a chance to look over those definitions, and I really appreciate you writing those out for me.

**plkwg:** good!! if u ever have any other questions feel free 2 ask and i’ll do my best to answer lol

**tr1ckortreat:** Thanks! I was actually wondering about stuffing? Like, I understand the concept and it seems really hot, but is it really just eating a bunch of food?

**plkwg:** i mean yeah lmao, it’s definitely very hot though ;) i actually started gaining after finding out abt stuffing - i did it so much that the belly just stuck after a while

Patrick shifts slightly in his bunk.  _ Jesus.  _ He hasn’t gotten hard this often since high school. He sits for a minute, trying to figure out a coherent response to that, but then P sends another message.

**plkwg:** im assuming you’ve never tried it, but i’d give it a shot if i were u

**plkwg:** if u do i smth rich and smth carbonated to drink

**plkwg:** anything messy is also good

Without even really thinking about it, Patrick’s fumbling at his keyboard and writing something like “Fucking hell that’s really hot,” because he’s seen pictures of P stuffed and… fuck. Fuck. 

**plkwg:** my favorite’s spaghetti ;)

**tr1ckortreat:** Holy fuck P

Patrick not-so-suddenly  _ really  _ wants to try this. He wants to stuff himself, but he also wants to stuff -  _ No. You’re not bringing Pete into this! Yes, he’s gained weight but that’s not, like, a thing! _

**plkwg:** u can tell me 2 shut up here bc i know we’ve only talked twice but

**plkwg:** are u hard?

Patrick should shut this down. He doesn’t even know this guy, this is literally the second time they’re talked, and yet - 

**tr1ckortreat:** Uh. Yeah

**tr1ckortreat:** Are you?

**plkwg:** yeah lmao

**plkwg:** i’m actually uh stuffed right now

**plkwg:** i was going to film a vid for the blog yk but uh. i got distracted 

**tr1ckortreat:** Holy shit

Patrick’s brain is about to fucking combust or some shit. This sorta thing doesn’t  _ happen  _ to him, he doesn’t start fucking, fucking  _ sexting  _ with some random-ass guy on the Internet that doesn’t even know his name. 

**plkwg:** just for the record this isn’t like. a regular thing i do on here

**plkwg:** this is gonna sound weird but i feel comfortable around u? i feel like that’s weird bc we’ve barely talked but

**plkwg:** also helping ppl discover their kinks is rly fun lmao

**tr1ckortreat:** This isn’t a regular thing for me at all haha

**tr1ckortreat:** But if we’re doing this, I guess I should at least tell you my name, so: I’m Rick. 

Rick. That’s a good fake name, right? It make his username make sense, it’s close enough to his real name that he’s unlikely to ever, like, forget it, but everyone that knows him in real life knows he doesn’t like nicknames. Perfect.

**plkwg:** somehow u dont seem like a rick to me but i like it

**plkwg:** so uh. we’re doing this then?

**tr1ckortreat:** I guess we are!

**tr1ckortreat:** Fuck

**plkwg:** wanna know what i’ve had? ;)

**tr1ckortreat:** Yes, fuck

**plkwg:** a whole pizza, three cans of coke, two hot dogs, and a giant slice of chocolate cake

Patrick’s trying to think of a coherent response while slipping one hand into his pants when he gets another message, a fucking  _ picture  _ this time. 

It’s a simple shot, just P’s stomach - rounded, barely any give under his belly button where his hand is resting - illuminated by the flash of a phone camera. Patrick can see the edge of his sweatpants and how they’re digging into his sides.

**tr1ckortreat:** That should not be as hot as it is oh my god

**plkwg:** i’m jerking off right now ;)

 

**tr1ckortreat:** I am too ;)

 

If Patrick ever sees a winky face ever again, he’s going to die instantly. He’s also going to come pretty damn soon if he even  _ thinks  _ about P’s stomach in that picture, and -  _ “Fuck,”  _ Patrick gasps out, biting his lip so he doesn’t make any other noise as he comes all over his hand. He wipes it on the inside his pajama pants with the promise to clean them in the morning and pulls his laptop back onto his lap.

**tr1ckortreat:** Well, now I’m not haha

There’s almost two minutes of no response from P, and Patrick’s starting to freak out slightly because of what just happened, and then -

**plkwg:** me neither! 

**plkwg:** hey uh this was a good time

**plkwg:** would u ever wanna. do this again sometime?

**tr1ckortreat:** Hell yeah!

Because Patrick gets really impulsive after he comes, apparently, he decides it’s a good idea to tell P that maybe next time he’ll be able to send some pictures too. Once the message has sent, he 

**plkwg:** that sounds awesome, rick ;)

**plkwg:** hey completely different subject but i was thinking earlier abt how like when i first joined the community on here i had a lot of trouble finding good/hot/morally sound blogs

**tr1ckortreat:** From the few minutes I’ve spent searching around on here, I can definitely get that!

**plkwg:** exactly! so if u want any blog recs, i can tell u some of my favs?

**tr1ckortreat:** That would be great! Thank you so much for, like, taking me under your wing here haha

**plkwg:** np!

**plkwg:** okay so here are some of my favs

P sends Patrick a list of about ten blogs, all of which Patrick follows almost immediately. (He can already tell that P’s is and will probably always be has favorite, but no one has to know that but him.) Patrick lets P go on a rant about problems in the kink community for almost an hour, just enjoying talking to the guy because he’s honestly pretty funny and he has a lot of good points, even if he’s starting to fall asleep a little.

**plkwg:** shit man my laptop’s dying and my charger’s like all the way across the room, i should probably call it a night bc im not sure how well getting up would go for me right now

(It’s a testament to how tired Patrick is as well when he only  _ sort of  _ chokes on his spit at that.)

**tr1ckortreat:** I should probably go too, I’m pretty tired haha

**tr1ckortreat:** It’s been uh. Really nice talking to you, I’ll try and message you tomorrow if I can!

**tr1ckortreat:** Goodnight!

**plkwg:** goodnight, rickster-trickster!

Patrick doesn’t even have time to comment on how awful of a nickname that is before his eyelids drift shut and he falls asleep with his laptop still open. 

* * *

Patrick keeps talking to P over the next few weeks as the tour drags on. Their friendship is a weird balance that seesaws between kinky sexting that Patrick can’t believe when he sees it the next time he logs on and stupid conversations about their favorite TV shows. It’s… comfortable. Patrick doesn’t know P’s full name or what his face looks like, but he definitely considers him a close friend.

The blog Patrick’s now sort of-actively running is sometimes also a welcome distraction from…  Pete. Now that Patrick’s noticed the extra weight, he can’t  _ stop  _ noticing it. Pete manages to keep up with his laundry, so there aren’t any obscenely tight clothes, but there’s still the way his thighs spread out over almost an entire chair when he sits down, there’s still his slowly disappearing jawline, there’s still the tiny bit of chub on his arms just under the edge of his sleeves. And it’s still driving Patrick  _ insane.  _

“Hey, Patrick, we have a few hours before soundcheck, d’you want to go for a walk with me? I heard there’s, like, a lucky statue thing in that park down the street.”

Patrick considers as he reads the message he just received from P. 

**plkwg:** hey, i have to go for a bit, i’ll be back later tonight! peace out, rickster-trickster!

**tr1ckortreat:** You don’t have to call me that every time you say bye, you know, you really don’t have to call me that at all.

_ (It’s even worse than Pete’s nicknames,  _ Patrick thinks, not for the first time.)

**tr1ckortreat:** Bye, though! Talk to you later!

Patrick shoves his phone back into his jeans pocket (yes, he finally caved and got the fucking Tumblr app), and looks up at Pete. “Sure, but if we get mobbed by fans, it’s on you.”

“It’ll be fine,” Pete says, waving his hand - his slightly chubby hand that Patrick still can’t fucking get over - dismissively. “Let’s just go.”

Patrick just shakes his head as he follows Pete outside into the…. _ warm  _ February air?

“Florida,” he realizes after a second of confusion. They’re in Florida, that’s why it’s so warm. Patrick shrugs off his light jacket and ties it around his waist, only to look up and see that Pete is doing the same - and that Pete has apparently decided that wearing the same gray shirt that started all of this fucking nonsense is a good idea.

From where he’s walking a few steps behind Pete, Patrick can see the soft pudge sticking out just a bit over the waist of Pete’s black jeans and can’t stop himself from picturing his own hands pressing into Pete’s sides and feeling the give there. Fuck. 

Pete half-turns back to tell Patrick to “catch the fuck up, Trick, come on,” and Patrick’s breath catches when he sees Pete’s belly pushing against his shirt, Pete’s soft chest just outlined. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he complains, which is pretty bad word choice considering that Patrick’s already half-hard just from watching Pete like this. 

They make it to the park about ten minutes later to find that oh, Pete had actually been thinking of a  _ different  _ park on the same road, and that there’s no lucky statue - or anything of interest at all, really. 

“We could still go to the other one?” Pete offers. “It’s only five miles in the other direction.”

Patrick shakes his head. “We still have a show tonight, dumbass, and there’s no way we’d make it there and back before soundcheck unless you want to run."

  
Pete snorts. “Yeah, no, I’m good. Do you wanna just sit here? It’s nice to not be fucking freezing for once.”

“Sure,” Patrick agrees, and they both sit down on a nearby park bench. Even they’re sitting far enough apart that Patrick would have to lean over a bit to rest his head on Pete’s shoulder - just as an example, not like that’s anything he wants to do - Pete’s thigh is just brushing Patrick’s.

Patrick sucks in a sharp breath and tries to subtly move his leg away before he actually fucking dies.

“Only a week left of tour,” Pete comments idly.

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Patrick says after spending way too long trying to figure out words beyond  _ big thighs hot?  _ “This one’s kinda dragged, though, can’t say I’ll miss it.” (It’s dragged because he spends almost every second on his own damn bus half-hard, and that takes a lot out of a person. The shows have been fine, because then Patrick’s able to focus on the music and ignore Pete. It’s just when he  _ can’t  _ ignore Pete that things get … difficult.)

Pete shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s actually gone by pretty fast for me.”

“Hm,” Patrick says vaguely, because Pete’s spread out his legs a little and now  _ his thigh is touching Patrick’s again. _

“Oh my God, wait, I don’t think I got to tell you about that book I finished the other day, Patrick, dude, it was insane, there was this dog and -”

Patrick turns to look at Pete, because, you know, eye contact is important when you’re listening to someone, but he finds his gaze trapped by Pete’s round cheeks and the almost-roll forming under his chin when he ducks his face down instead. He doesn’t even realize that he’s zoned out until Pete’s waving his hand in front of Patrick’s face and saying, “Earth to Patrick? Hello?”

Patrick jumps slightly. “Sorry, I, uh. I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m still kinda tired.”

Pete drops his hand back down to his side, where it brushes against Patrick’s slightly. (Patrick is  _ not  _ thirteen, okay, his heart definitely doesn’t  _ flutter  _ or anything like that. Bullshit.) “If you’re that tired, you should head back to the bus and try and at least get a nap in before the show,” he says.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Patrick concedes with a sigh, partly because he  _ is  _ a little tired from talking to P until three am last night and partly because if Pete’s thigh touches his one more time, he’s going to come in his pants. “I’ll see you at soundcheck then, I guess?”

He gets up from the bench and is already starting to walk away when Pete says, “Yep, see you then, Rickster-Trickster.”

To Patrick’s credit, he waits until he’s out of sight and earshot before completely and utterly losing his fucking shit.

_ It’s a coincidence. It’s gotta be. There’s no way that Pete’s…. P. There’s no way. Even though they start with the same letter.  _

_ But if it’s not a coincidence? What if Pete  _ is  _ P? Does he  _ know  _ who I am? Why wouldn’t he have said anything before? _ _  
_

_ It’s totally a coincidence, though. Of course Pete could come up with a nickname like that out of the blue. It’s completely like him.  _ _  
_

_ … if it’s completely like him, then isn’t it completely plausible for him to have come up with it a few weeks ago when he met “Rick?” _

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Patrick mutters at himself under his breath. He’s practically running back towards the bus at this point. There’s no way. There’s  _ no  _ goddamn way.

Patrick bursts through the bus door, letting it slam shut behind him as he practically dives into his bunk and yanks out his laptop. Sure, he  _ could  _ handle this rationally or at least a little less dramatically, but - Patrick’s brain isn’t really doing the whole ‘rational, not dramatic’ thing right now.

He opens tumblr ridiculously fast to find a message waiting for him from just two minutes ago.

**plkwg:** hey rick! i’m back for a few lol

Patrick stares at the message until the words blur. That doesn’t look like something Pete would say if he knew Patrick was tr1ckortreat, right? Of course, he doesn’t know why he’s even worried about Pete knowing who he is, because Pete’s not P. Pete’s not -

Fuck. The username that Patrick had previously written off as just a keysmash almost unscrambles itself before his eyes. Peter. Lewis. Kingston. Wentz, and then wg on the end for weight gain. There’s no fucking way that this can be a coincidence.

_ Wait, tattoos!  _ Patrick’s brain offers up suddenly, a last-ditch attempt at avoiding the truth that’s settling heavy in Patrick’s gut.  _ P doesn’t have tattoos, does he?  _

Patrick clicks on P’s blog as fast as he possibly can and starts scrolling through his “me” tag, and shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. In every picture (how did Patrick not notice this before, how dumb can you get, fuck, fuck, fuck), P has his hand resting just under his belly button: exactly where the bartskull would be if - if he was Pete.  

Patrick scrolls faster and faster, and it’s like each new detail is a tile that only adds to the horrifying,  horrifying mosaic that is P being  _ Pete Wentz.  _ P’s 5’6”, he’s gaining slowly because he doesn’t want a ton of people to notice, he likes Metallica, he has a lifestyle that keeps him traveling fairly often, all of the places where Pete has tattoos are either just outside of the frame or hidden in shadow, P … P is Pete. P, the one person that’s been able to grab Patrick’s attention after meeting Pete,  _ is  _ Pete. P, the guy that Patrick’s spent the past month flirting with and - oh god, the stuff he’s  _ said  _ to P - is Pete. He’s Pete fucking Wentz, and Patrick is going to fucking die.

The more he thinks about it, the more stupid he feels for not realizing earlier. It was obvious, so fucking obvious the entire time, and Patrick was so fucking dumb. Fuck.

He slams his laptop shut and spends a good five minutes fighting the urge to just  _ scream.  _ There’s so much going on in his head, and he hates that one of the prominent thoughts is  _ HOT!  _ It is hot, though, now that Patrick can take everything P’s ever told him and apply it to Pete. Because they’re the same fucking person.

And - fuck. All of those pictures… those are  _ Pete.  _ Holy fuck. If Patrick wasn’t so emotionally fucked at the moment, he’s pretty sure he’d be hard again already. Fuck.

Those thoughts give way then to Patrick’s most pressing question.  _ Does he know who I am? _

Patrick’s pretty sure he’ll have no choice but to quit the band and move to fucking, fucking, he doesn’t know, Siberia or some shit, if Pete’s known who he is the entire time. Of course, the only way to know if Pete knows would be to  _ ask  _ him, and Patrick doesn’t think he’d ever be able to physically make himself say that.

Just then, he gets another message from P. From  _ Pete. _

**plkwg:** okay so i know ur probably busy rn but i just realized

**plkwg:** i have this friend patrick right

**plkwg:** and i called him rickster trickster today on accident lmao

Patrick is unable to keep himself from screaming into his pillow this time. At least it answers his question, right? Pete doesn’t know who he is. That’s… good. That’s a good thing. Now all Patrick has to do is 1) keep it that way forever and 2) learn how to look at Pete without getting hard. Those both seem dishearteningly difficult, so Patrick decides on a new, shorter-term plan: completely ignore Pete.

* * *

 

“Patrick. Dude. What the fuck did I do? You’ve been ignoring me for a week now.”

Patrick very carefully doesn’t look up from where he’s tuning his guitar. “I’m not ignoring you,” he says. 

“Bullshit,” Pete snaps back. “You’ve barely spoken to me, and when you do, you don’t even look at me. I know we’ve been stuck together for like two months, but seriously. Did something happen at the park that day?”

“No. I’m trying to get ready for soundcheck, Pete, okay, just leave me alone.” 

Pete sounds like he’s about to say something else, but then Joe calls him backstage for something and he stomps away. “We’re talking about this later!” he calls to Patrick.

“No, we’re not,” Patrick mutters. He only has to get through two more nights, and then tour’s over, and then he can go home and work on a more substantial plan for dealing with… this. Two more nights. That’s completely doable, right?

* * *

 

The first night actually goes well. Patrick makes sure that’s he in front of Pete at all times on stage so that he doesn’t see Pete’s ass in his ridiculously tight stage jeans, and he shuts himself in his bunk as soon as they get back on the bus so that Pete doesn’t talk to him. He ignores the steadily piling up messages from Pete on Tumblr, even though each one sounds a little more worried.

The second night… does not go well. The show is fine, but then some fucking person that must hate Patrick suggests an end of tour pizza party afterwards. Patrick has no choice but to go along, thanks to the fact that he doesn’t have his goddamn hotel key yet, so he follows the loud group of techs and roadies that he  _ does  _ appreciate, really, just… not right now.

Pete, naturally, takes the seat directly across from Patrick’s once they get to the 24-hour restaurant/bar. Patrick already wants to die, especially considering that Pete’s been giving him weird looks all fucking day when he thinks Patrick isn’t looking. (His stupid, irrational brain keeps telling him that Pete  _ knows _ , but that’s impossible. Patrick’s been careful.)

Pete’s still in the thankfully-loose T-shirt he wore on stage, but that doesn’t hide how his arms are bigger, the skin jiggling slightly when he throws his arm around Joe and whispers something in his ear, or how his cheeks look even rounder when he grins for one of the many cameras flashing.

“This pizza is fucking  _ amazing,”  _ Pete practically yells across the table at Patrick. It’s difficult to hear with the drunk cacophony around them.

“Mhm,” Patrick says, eyes not leaving the table. He pushes at the slice of pizza someone passed him with one finger. It looks good, even though Patrick doesn’t have much of an appetite right now, all hot grease and dripping sauce and dear god, it’s probably all over Pete’s face and - 

Pete makes a frustrated noise and leans across the table. “Patrick. Seriously, cut it the fuck out.”

“Cut what the fuck out?” Patrick snaps. He makes the mistake of looking up at Pete as he speaks, and he chokes on the follow-up he had planned. He was right, Pete has grease and sauce all around his mouth and even a bit on his shirt, and that should be  _ disgusting,  _ not  _ hot.  _ And yet. 

“Ignoring me!” Pete says, between bites of more pizza. 

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Patrick insists. He reaches for his glass of water, suddenly regretting his choice to not get a beer or something. (Alcohol, he’d reasoned, close proximity to Pete, and end-of-tour-I-haven’t-gotten-to-properly-jerk-off-in-weeks-horniness were  _ not  _ a good combination.) 

Pete frowns at him as he picks up another piece of pizza and takes a giant bite. Once he’s swallowed, he points the slice at Patrick and says, “Yes. You. Are. So what the fuck is up?”

“I’m not doing this here,” Patrick tells him, and immediately regrets ever opening his mouth. Shit. Now he’s just admitted that there  _ is  _ something going on, and he’s implied that he’s willing to talk about it later.

“ _ Fine, _ ” Pete huffs. He takes another bite of pizza angrily, like he’s trying to make a point, and turns to talk to the tech sitting next to him.

Patrick leans back in his seat, finally picking up his slice of pizza. It’s good, and he’s halfway through it when he hears someone yell, “I dare Wentz to eat a whole pizza!” and then Patrick has to try and not obviously die. There is no possible way for this to end well.

Pete grins at the source of the voice - a roadie named Jaxon that Patrick makes a mental note to  _ murder  _ later - and calls back, “Challenge accepted!”   
  
There are cheers and raised glasses all around the long table as everyone tries to find a pizza no one’s touched yet and pass it down to Pete. For a bunch of very drunk people, they manage it pretty fast, and then Patrick’s staring at Pete staring down an entire large meat lover’s pizza.

“I’ve already had five slices,” Pete points out, “can I subtract that?”   


Even though he knows that Pete’s had way more than that on multiple occasions, Patrick can’t help the little shudder that goes up his spine. A mutter travels around the table before Jaxon yells, “Nope!”

Pete fakes an  _ Oh, shit!  _ face that might actually have been convincing if Patrick didn’t know that he’d taken (more than) this before. “Well, guess I’d better get started, then,” he says, laughing a little. Pete picks up the first slice, the excessive toppings already starting to slide off the sides, and makes direct eye contact with Patrick as he takes a ridiculously big bite. 

Patrick tries to keep the way he shifts in his seat to accommodate the fact that he’s just gone from half to completely hard subtle, but Pete’s mouth curves up just enough around his mouthful of food that Patrick has a feeling he noticed. That wouldn’t make any sense, though. Why would Pete be smirking at Patrick moving a little in his seat? 

Patrick’s just paranoid. And really, really turned on. It’s fine. This is fine. He’s fine. 

“Jesus,” Joe says then, staring as Pete heads in for the next piece. “That was, like, ridiculously fast. Are you one of those people that used to do eating contests as a kid or some shit?”   
  
Pete snorts. “No,” he says, words slightly muffled by the pizza in his mouth. “I just like eating.” 

Right when he says that, Pete looks directly at Patrick again. The eye contact only lasts a second, but Patrick’s breath still hitches in his throat and he shivers. Pete… can’t be doing this on purpose. That wouldn’t make any fucking sense!

“I like eating too, but I can’t put away two giant slices in two minutes!” Joe says incredulously. His observations really aren’t doing anything good for Patrick. 

“It’s a talent,” Pete says, shrugging as he picks up his third (eighth, really) slice. He’s about a quarter of the way through the pizza now. 

_ Jesus,  _ Patrick thinks. His mouth is dry and he’s trying to act normal, trying to laugh along with everyone else as Pete folds the pizza in half and shoves most of it into his mouth, but it’s hard when he’s so fucking close to coming in his pants.  _ Jesus fucking Christ. _

Pete makes it through two more slices before Jaxon calls, “Slowing down already?”

“Of course not,” Pete retorts, but he sounds out of breath and it’s clear that he’s feeling the full impact of what he’s eaten as reaches for the next slice. Pete leans back a little as he eats, slumping in his chair so that Patrick can see the way his other hand is resting on his stomach. And fuck, Pete’s stomach.

Even though it was loose when he sat down, Pete’s shirt is now pulled tight across the taut curve of his belly. There’s even a small strip of skin peeking out just above the waistline of his jeans where his shirt has started to ride up. Patrick. Wants. To. Die.

He considers just getting up and leaving, he can get himself a room key from the front desk of the hotel, but there are too many people crowded around him and staring in his general direction for Patrick to be able to leave without making a huge deal out of it. So he sinks down in his seat as much as possible without it being obvious and pretends he doesn’t see Pete tossing him glances across the table.

“Halfway there!” Pete announces triumphantly. He takes a sip of his Coke before grabbing the next slice, and Patrick swallows hard when he sees the two empty glasses lined up next to Pete’s current one. Pete’s already chubby cheeks look even bigger as he stuffs the majority of a pizza slice into his mouth.

Patrick is literally going to come in his pants if this keeps up the way it’s been going, so he decides that his new hobby is admiring the lovely wood grain of the table.  It’s fascinating, seriously. Very… table-y. And -

“One more slice!”

And, apparently, it’s a  _ great  _ wood grain for slamming your head on. 

“You okay, Patrick?” Andy asks. 

Patrick slowly lifts his head from the table and nods. “Yeah, I’m just, um, I’m just really tired all of a sudden? I think I’m gonna call it a night, guys.”   


Only the people sitting directly around him really hear, and they make a little path for Patrick to get through as everyone else watches Pete finish an entire fucking pizza. Plus five extra slices.  _ Fuck.  _

Patrick keeps his head down as he steps out onto the sidewalk outside of the restaurant, praying that no fans show up as he calls a taxi and heads to the hotel. He loves meeting fans, really, he does, just not… under current circumstances.

Luckily, he makes it into the hotel without incident, and the desk clerk is happy to give him a key to his room. The evening is actually starting to seem like it’ll be survivable as Patrick flops onto the bed. He shoots Joe a text asking him to bring Patrick’s duffel bag up from the bus when he comes up, and then turns off his phone and drops his face into his pillow. 

Tonight’s been… a night. Holy shit. Patrick just saw Pete fucking, fucking stuffing himself. In person. He’s so hard it feels like his dick might fall off, but he can’t morally bring himself to jerk off. It was different when Pete was just P, because then he was just some guy on the Internet that Patrick was starting to sorta get really interested in, not Patrick’s best friend and bandmate. 

“Ugh,” Patrick says into the pillow. He kind of hates his life, especially considering that he can’t get the image of Pete sitting there stuffed, shirt riding up his belly, grease and sauce and bits of cheese all over his face, extra weight still everywhere -  

Patrick reaches into his pants. He has morals, yes, but they’ve never exactly been strong when it comes to not jerking off to Pete Wentz.

He’s close, hips rutting into the bed and breath coming in short, harsh gasps, when the electronic buzz of the lock sounds and the door swings open. Patrick yanks his hand out of his pants immediately, trying to act casual just in case Joe had heard anything.

“Hey, Trick!”

That’s… not Joe. Patrick very slowly turns his head, and he wants to fucking  _ scream  _ when he sees Pete standing in the doorway. He’s holding his and Patrick’s overnight bags in one hand and his - huge, half-exposed - stomach in the other. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Patrick says. He’s not staring at Pete’s stomach, he’s not staring at the way Pete’s shirt has ridden up even more, he’s not staring at the way Pete’s jeans look like they’re about to burst open, he’s  _ not.  _

“I asked Joe to switch rooms with me,” Pete explains. His tone is unfamiliar, something Patrick can’t place, as he drops the bags on the other bed and steps closer to Patrick. “So are you ready to explain why you’re ignoring me now, Rick?”

Rick.  _ Rick.  _ The bottom of Patrick’s stomach drops out. Shit. Pete can’t know. He can’t. He doesn’t. It’s just a stupid nickname.

“Fuck off with the nicknames, Pete, I let you have Trick but that’s  _ it.”  _ Patrick’s voice wavers just enough to make Pete raise an eyebrow and climb onto Patrick’s bed. Patrick slides back instinctively, eyes stuck on the deep dip that Pete’s knees make in the mattress.

“Cut the shit,  _ Rick _ ,” Pete says, but he doesn’t sound too mad. “I know it’s you, it’s okay.”

Patrick’s heart is beating so fast he can feel it thudding in his ears, a steady rhythm of  _ he knows, he knows, he knows.  _ “You know what’s me?”

Pete rolls his eyes as he leans in closer, pizza-scented breath dancing across Patrick’s face as he whispers, “Trick or treat.”

Patrick’s heart stops. “Uh. I. Fuck. How?’

Pete sits back slightly, placing a hand back on his stomach so casually that Patrick almost wonders if he realizes he’s doing it - and if he notices the effect it has on Patrick. “You were ignoring me for no reason, I figured you were mad, so I got on your laptop while you were out doing your laundry yesterday to see if I could find out why. And uh, you had Tumblr open. And you were still logged in. 

“It was pretty easy to put it together from there, obviously you found out who I was - I’m guessing because I called you Rickster Trickster at the park the other day -  freaked out, and decided to completely ignore me.”

Patrick can’t even  _ speak.  _ Holy shit. Pete knows. Pete knows. Fuck. 

“So,” Pete continues, like he can tell that Patrick isn’t going to be speaking any time soon, “I thought about having a whole serious conversation, but fucking with you at that party tonight was  _ way  _ more entertaining. Except now I’m really stuffed, really horny, and really hoping that you’ll do what I’ve wanted you to do for years and fuck me.”

Somewhere in Patrick’s brain, the bit about Pete wanting this for years sets off flurries of holy shit! and butterflies and all of that romantic shit, but Patrick’s been ridiculously horny since the first time he saw Pete in that tight gray shirt so all he really hears is “stuffed, horny,” and “fuck me.”

“Uh,” he says, because he’s a grown man and he can clearly form full sentences.

Pete grins, moving forward on the bed and straddling Patrick with his fucking  _ thighs,  _ Jesus, leaning forward just enough for his stomach to brush against Patrick’s. “Fuck me,” he repeats. 

“Don’t you think we should at least  _ talk  _ about this?” Patrick manages weakly.

“I’m P. You’re Rick. I’ve been gaining weight, I just stuffed myself, and we’re both really into it. There. We talked about it. Now fuck me,” Pete says.

Patrick can feel his resolve crumbling into tiny, irreparable pieces, so he just says, “Doesn’t count, talking later,” before sitting up, pushing Pete onto his back, and kissing him.

Pete’s hands automatically come up to grab at Patrick’s waist, pulling him closer, and Patrick groans softly into Pete’s mouth when he presses against Pete’s stomach.

“Pete, I-” he starts, not even able to figure out what he’s trying to say before his brain shorts out. Pete. This is  _ Pete  _ under him, sliding a hand under Patrick’s shirt, Pete, who Patrick’s been in love with forever,  _ Pete.  _ Holy fuck.

Pete whines, the sound low in his throat, and pushes at Patrick’s shirt. “Take this off,” he insists, and Patrick sits back and obliges.

“Yours next,” he says, trying to sound like he’s not about to fucking die because fuck, he’s about to see Pete stuffed and shirtless. 

Pete sits up just enough to yank his shirt off and throw it to the side of the bed, and then Patrick’s hands are on him before he can even lay all the way back down.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ Patrick whispers. He has one hand right on the center of Pete’s stomach, pressing down on the soft skin and reveling in how much give there is before it grows taut, and one hand wrapped around Pete’s bicep.

“Patrick, fuck, please,” Pete pants out. He already looks  _ wrecked,  _ lips bright red from where Patrick had bitten them, hair a mess, trying to push his hips up towards Patrick. “Fuck, fuck me, please, fuck.”

Patrick kisses him again to shut him up, reaching down to squeeze Pete’s ass over his jeans - and fuck,  _ fuck,  _ it already feels even better than Patrick had imagined, Patrick needs these jeans off  _ now _ \- like a sort of promise. “I will,” he murmurs against Pete’s lips when they break apart just enough to breathe. “I just need… I need this first.”

Pete nods like he understands, and he groans when Patrick grabs at his chubby hips, digging his fingers into the soft rolls of skin before reaching for the button of Pete’s jeans. The fabric is straining so tightly against Pete’s stomach that it takes Patrick a minute to undo the button, but once he does, the zipper slides down by itself and Pete’s belly spills even further into Patrick’s hands.

Patrick sits back further on Pete’s thighs so that he can lean down and kiss Pete’s stomach, biting down hard just to the side of the bartskull to hear Pete whimper. There’s an angry red mark when Patrick sits up, and he taps it lightly just to see Pete’s stomach shake.

“Please, Patrick, please, fuck, I can’t, I need, fuck,” Pete’s gasping out, hands scrabbling at Patrick’s sides and at the waist of Patrick’s jeans. Patrick catches each of Pete’s hands in one of his own and pins them above Pete’s head.

“Just wait,” he says. “Please.”

Pete looks like he wants to argue, but he keeps his mouth shut and hands above his head as Patrick slowly pushes his jeans and boxers down over his thighs.

“God, you’re so fucking - fuck,” Patrick breathes, grabbing at Pete’s thighs and unable to believe how much fucking  _ give  _ there is there, how much Patrick’s fingers can sink into. “Fuck, Pete.”

Pete just moans, a breathy, barely-there sound as he spreads his legs as far as he can with his pants still around his knees. The movement makes Pete’s whole body shake a bit, and fuck, Patrick could watch that all day.  _ Jesus.  _

“C’mon, c’mon, take your pants off,” Pete says, clearly getting impatient again. He’s propped on his elbows slightly, as if he wouldn’t be able to see over his stomach if he was lying straight back, and that thought alone is more than enough motivation for Patrick to slide off his jeans and boxers. Pete finally manages to kick his off as well, and then he’s lying completely exposed under Patrick, every single pound he’s gained on display.

“If I could,” Patrick starts, one hand already reaching back up to grab Pete’s ass again as he leans down to whisper directly into Pete’s ear, “I’d just spend all day looking at you like this, touching you. You’ve gotten so big, Pete, fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

Pete’s eyes are wide and dark as he manages, “ _ Patrick,”  _ trying to grind down onto Patrick’s hand where it’s squeezing his ass. “I want, fuck,  _ please. _ ”

Patrick rolls his hips down against Pete’s, groaning when his dick brushes Pete’s stomach. He’s been hard for  _ years  _ now, it seems like. “Like I said, I’d do that if I could. But I’m already very fucking close, and I  _ do  _ really want to fuck you, so - do you have any lube?”

“My bag,” Pete gasps out. “Side pocket.”

Patrick sits back again, about to get up when he has an idea. “Will you go get it?” he asks, not even bothering to hide the ulterior motives clear in his voice.

Pete regains his composure enough to smirk at Patrick as he gets up off the bed and walks across the room towards his bag. Patrick has the  _ best  _ ideas sometimes, honestly, because the way Pete’s thighs and ass jiggle a bit with every step is pretty much the best thing he’s ever seen.

Pete grabs lube and condoms and hands them to Patrick before climbing back onto the bed and lying down on his back once more. “Now fuck me,” he commands, half-joking, more-than-half-desperate. 

Patrick decides not to dignify that with a response beyond slipping one finger into Pete’s ass.

Pete’s mouth drops open immediately, a soft whine falling out, and Patrick smirks. Pete looks fucking  _ amazing  _ like this, all of the softness around his jaw forming a small double chin as he tries to look up at Patrick. 

“You look so fucking good,” Patrick says breathlessly as he works in a second finger. “You've gotten so fat, Pete, fuck."

That sentence, which Patrick honestly cannot believe he just said, makes Pete whine, desperately pushing his hips up. 

Patrick smirks as he reaches up and grabs at the extra pudge that’s formed on Pete’s chest. Pete pushes up into Patrick’s touch, letting out a moan that sounds suspiciously like the words “fuck me.” 

“Getting there,” Patrick says, sliding in a third finger and slowly scissoring his fingers until Pete’s starting to grind down on his hand, his belly wobbling with every movement.

“I’m ready, fuck, just fuck me, please,” Pete begs. “Please, Patrick, fuck.”

Patrick gently grabs at Pete’s chest one more time before relocating his grip to Pete’s love handles as he slides his fingers out, rolls a condom over his dick, and pushes in. Pete’s whole body shakes when Patrick finally starts to move a few moments later.

“Fuck, Pete, fuck, you’re so fucking,” Patrick groans. Fuck. He can already tell that this is going to be over way too soon, but  _ fuck. _

Pete looks like he’s about to say something, but Patrick must hit his prostate on his next thrust because all that comes out is a yell. “I’m gonna - “ Pete gasps, and then he’s coming all over his stomach, and Patrick’s following a second later with a choked off moan.

Patrick tightens his grip on Pete’s chub for one last second before forcing himself to let go and pull out. He ties the condom off and tosses it into the trash can, grabs the nearest shirt and cleans off Pete’s stomach, and then drops his head right onto Pete’s belly button.

Pete makes a soft, mostly-fake  _ oof  _ noise. “There’s still over an entire pizza in there, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” Patrick groans. He’s too fucking exhausted to go again right now, no matter what his dick says. “But uh. Are we going to talk about this?”   


“Do you want to talk about this?” Pete replies. He inhales and exhales heavily, his stomach rising and falling under Patrick’s head. “Because I don’t think we really need to. I think we’ve both, uh, said what we’ve had to say on Tumblr.”

“So we’re not even going to talk about the fucking odds of us finding each other on there like that?” Patrick asks. He’s… fine with not talking about it, though, actually. Pete has a good point with the whole already-having-said-everything, because, well, yeah, they kinda have.

When Pete replies, Patrick can hear the smile in his voice. “We’re soulmates, Trick, of course we found each other.”

Patrick snorts. “So, uh, could soulmates translate to. Um. Boyfriends, maybe?”

“Boyfriends sounds amazing,” Pete says genuinely, and he reaches down to take Patrick’s hand. 

“You’re sure? You’re not just, like, using me to indulge your kinks, right?” Patrick know he sounds stupid, but he figures it’s worth a shot to clarify anyway.

“Patrick, I’ve been in love with you for years, kinks or not. Although, I’ve gotta admit, the sex is already  _ great. _ ”

Patrick rolls his eyes as Pete sits up and realigns them so they’re both lying with their heads on actual pillows, but he doesn’t let go of Patrick’s hand, and Patrick immediately leans over to rest his head on Pete’s shoulder. “So, um, on the subject of indulging kinks, though…. are you still trying to, you know. Gain?”

“You trying to help me?” Pete smirks. 

Patrick feels his cheeks growing hot. “Well, yeah, I mean. I could. If you wanted.”

“I’d  _ love  _ that.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry


End file.
